


Comes and Goes, the Mischief of Spring

by orphan_account



Category: THE iDOLM@STER: SideM
Genre: Childhood Memories, Comfort Food, Cooking, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23188261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "You know."It's slightly a little more embarrassing, now that he thinks about it, that this particular memory is one that he can't quite piece together very well, despite how often it seems to come to mind."The way to a man's heart is through his stomach."
Relationships: Kuzunoha Amehiko/Tendou Teru
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Comes and Goes, the Mischief of Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Quick! While the high from the 315 Day stream is inhibiting my absolute mortification of posting works online!

It's a small, embarrassing story from his childhood. He used to not be able to tell apart between his grandfather, puttering around their kitchen's hearth stove, parboiling butterbur shoots with powdered ash, and the Harbinger of Spring, sitting in perfect _seiza_ by the _irori_ in their living room.

Their voices both kind, a warm timbre as they tell him stories from years past. They both reminded him of his family garden's cherry blossoms at the height of their bloom, a single stray petal finding its way into his half-finished cup of tea.

The Harbinger of Spring might have had a kimono that was visibly older. Tattered sleeves, printed pattern a little more faded, worn. The mask he wears over his face would have been the next clue, ice grey hair that seems just the slightest bit more translucent where they fall over the curve of his ear.

But for Amehiko, into the spring of his fourth year, wind chimes, shrine bells, footsteps, adults with masks wasn't something he had thought unusual.

" _You know._ "

It's slightly a little more than embarrassing, now that he thinks about it, that this particular memory is one that he can't quite piece together very well, despite how often it seems to come to mind.

" _The way to a man's heart is through his stomach._ "

The chuckle he had heard could have easily been mistaken as either the Harbinger or his grandfather. Amehiko had been sitting under the door way, counting each time he swings his legs over the stepping stone down to the kitchen. He remembers a soft smile, small, peeking back from behind the seams of a moss green kimono.

" _It's a joke, mostly. Especially when I do the cooking in this house._ " The rhythmic taps of a kitchen knife against the cutting board is one he associates with changing seasons, a basket of herbs, washes and drained, on the counter. " _But it's surprising how much it can catch you off guard._ "

A time when his grandfather would start to cook more often, anecdotes about his grandmother, an accompanying a spring breeze lulling him into sleep as he leans against the frame of the _shouji_ door.

" _Your grandmother was an odd one ― she liked yougashi, but her palate was closer to more traditional wagashi…_ "

"So I was wondering if making it into mousse would work, what do you think?"

Amehiko blinks once, surprised to catch himself dazed, staring outside as if trying to find a flutter of moss green, hidden somewhere behind a shower of cherry blossom petals.

The curtains hung over the kitchen window is orange.

Somehow, it's shade he has come to feel a sense of familiarity ― home, in a way. 

"I think you could make it work?" Amehiko says, a pretence of his usual ease.

"That's why I asked you to try a bite." Teru pouts, mostly for show, sighs almost immediately after. "It isn't like you at all to zone out like that, Amehiko. Are you alright?"

_Ah, at least he tried._

"Nothing goes past you, huh, Tendou-san?"

"I'd like to think I know you enough at this point."

He didn't think that he would have let him this far in at first, either.

_And yet―_

"I'll have some if you'd feed me?" Amehiko says, leaning forward across the counter, a hand curled under his chin. 

"Are you sure you're not possessed by something?" 

He wonders about that actually, shrugs by way of an answer.

Still, though, through grumbles and furrowed brows, Teru scoops out a spoonful mousse. He offers a bite Amehiko's way without much fanfare, tilts his head as he waits for a verdict. 

"What did you say was in this again?" It's delicious, as is everything else Teru makes, but there's something about the subtle tang, the bittersweet herbaceous quality to the cream that tugs at him. 

"Yomogi!" Teru says, all pride and excitement the he always would, talking about his interests. "It works for mochi, so I thought since it's in season I could experiment."

Had Amehiko been just the slightest bit more out of it, it wouldn't have been at all odd, if he had mistaken Teru as the first signs of summer. His smile had always been unusually bright, even when it has no reason to be.

"So, what do you think?" He's oddly skittish, playing with the hem of his _hanten_ , behind the counter where he probably thought Amehiko wouldn't be able to see

He ponders the possibility of whether or not there might be something else to the offering, waves it off just as quickly, as he sits, quiet, for a while, mulling over his thoughts for an answer.

Amehiko spares a quick look back out the kitchen window.

' _It's delicious._ '

_'You have nothing to worry about.'_

"It's something I'd want you to make for me again," he settles with instead.

He thinks he might remember this spring through the midday sun, a gentle breeze knocking against glass window panes, Teru, in the midst, warmer than he has ever seen him, fingers together, his grin cheeky, lopsided.

"I'll gladly make it for you no matter how many times over."


End file.
